


Lordvessel

by TheIllusiveMantis



Category: Dark Souls (Video Games)
Genre: Established Relationship, Exhibitionism, M/M, Masturbation, Pre-Canon, Teasing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-03
Updated: 2019-03-03
Packaged: 2019-11-08 13:55:53
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,712
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17982356
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheIllusiveMantis/pseuds/TheIllusiveMantis
Summary: It is a respectable party, and Lord Gwyn's firstborn son, along with his most trusted knight, stand a respectable distance apart.





	Lordvessel

**Author's Note:**

> I have never written porn before! But I guess there's a first time for everything!
> 
> Inspired by much beautiful art and fics

* * *

 

The feast had been in full swing for what felt like its own age now. The finest hall in Anor Londo once again hosted the most respectable company, engaged in various amusements of varying levels of propriety, though a certain amount of drunken revelry was only, after all, customary. A few of these fine guests began to miss their most glorious host, for just now Lord Gwyn's firstborn son, and his first knight, stood at a respectable distance from each other, surveying the unfolding extravagance below.

 

Ornstein, for his part, was surprised to have such company – he had not expected to have Faraam alone until later that night.

 

“Do the festivities not please you, my lord?” he asked in an easy tone, almost too formal and all the more familiar for it. His prince gave a lazy gesture, half a shrug.

 

“Sure, the lords and ladies and their exultations of fire, and of my lord father, are very amusing,” Faraam said, honestly, “but it is not what I desire tonight.”

 

Ornstein, honed into statuesque form from years of practicing perfect poise, perfect posture, did not flinch. That being said, the intonation on Faraam's pronunciation of the word: _desire_ , left nothing clouded between them. He knew very well what his prince desired; in fact, he'd been able to see it in his eyes whenever the prince's gaze had fallen upon him throughout the evening, though Ornstein was in full armor, standing ceremonially at one of the entrances to the hall, more of an ornament tonight than a guard on duty. How Faraam could look at him, clothed fully in heavy metal, and think only of his desires of the flesh... his prince was truly an unorthodox thinker, indeed.

 

But there was nothing to be done about it. The guests down below were stealing surreptitious looks up at him, at the glory of their lord's eldest son; his absence would be noted, missed, and surely questioned later by his exacting father, although Lord Gwyn himself was not present tonight. And Ornstein leaving his post was also out of the question.

 

“Perhaps we should descend again,” Ornstein began to say, because being alone together tonight was introducing these fruitless, sinful temptations into their minds, but his prince spoke as well,

 

“I could command them all to watch me debase you,” Faraam mused aloud, with no more than the air of someone speculating on a joust, “and they would.”

 

His prince's vile language! A curse visit him. Ornstein sucked in a breath, but did not turn his gaze to stare sharply at his lord, as he might have now if they were alone. _What an insolent creature you've become,_ Faraam would say so fondly. “They would do anything you asked of them, my lord,” Ornstein replied in a measured, but not entirely neutral tone. “That does not mean there would not be consequences later.” He kept his language as vague as possible, hoping Faraam would take the hint. There was no guarantee, after all, even in this land, that no one was listening: though he trusted Ciaran as a fellow knight, she seemed to have access to more secrets than seemed possible, and he wasn't eager to give her this one.

 

He could feel Faraam's eyes, briefly, on him, though his prince turned back again to the crowd below when he saw Ornstein steadfastly would not meet his gaze. “With my lord father, there are always consequences,” he acknowledged. “But he is not here tonight, nor are Gwyndolin or Gwynevere, so we mustn't worry of offending their sensibilities.”

 

It was only a tease. Ornstein knew this well enough, but Faraam must know the effect it was having on him. Here he was, trapped in his armor, unable to provide himself even the slightest relief. And Faraam went on. “Look down there: at the main table that they are just now clearing away. We can pretend it is my lordly bed, and I will tell our guests that I wish to give them the privilege of seeing how a God may please those who are loyal.”

 

The vivid image set forth in Ornstein's mind may well have been one of Gwyndolin's illusions, nearly ripe to the touch. “None of them question your loyalty, after all, my dear knight,” Faraam says. “Even were you to strip naked at the first utterance of my command and get down on your knees like a dog in heat, they will think you act solely out of the strength of your fealty to me and love of my family.”

 

Faraam's foul mouth would have been right at home at a common tavern for the lesser men, born of dark. Hearing it coming from his prince's lordly tongue was a desecration, an indulgence, a delight. It was torment, it was purest torture. Underneath his proud armor, polished and glinting - the armor that advertised his status as the most trusted knight of Lord Gwyn, of his firstborn – Ornstein was aware of his skin, sensitive and aching, too familiar with the echoes of Faraam's touch.

 

“Do you still take commands from me, my beloved knight?” Faraam asked, the question sending Ornstein's heart beating faster. “Or have you become too defiant and well-kept?”

 

“In my capacities as your first knight, there is no order I will not follow from you,” Ornstein said, after taking a swallow to steady his voice. “But if you wish to order me to _debase_ myself in front of half the nobility of Lordran-”

 

Though he still did not turn to face his lord – did not dare – he could feel the sly smile in his voice. “Why, Ornstein. You know your lord would never dishonor you with such a request. I know you wish your dignity preserved, and so do I. What I would ask of you is next to nothing. Will you do it?”

 

“Still you say not what it is.”

 

“Very little faith, though you are sworn to me.”

 

“Are you not sworn to me as well?”

 

The words came freely out of Ornstein before he could remember himself. In a solemn moment, alone and unencumbered, Faraam had offered him a vow, one of his own crafting, a vow that he wished not spoken of except in moments of greatest privacy, lest some chance of the outside world sullying it with their intrusions. He chanced a look at Faraam, just then. But his prince was only smiling.

 

“Indeed,” the prince acknowledged. “Shall I frame it as a request, then? A wish of my heart.” His smile was of a cat, now, though Ornstein wore the beast's face over his own. “As you stand there right now, I wish for you to recall the feeling of us joined together, of me inside you.”

 

The balcony they were standing on was positioned such that the guests down below could see only their upper bodies as they stood, and Faraam was using it to his advantage now. Right there in the hall, unbeknownst to all who pledged him fealty, he freed himself from his robe and began to stroke himself. The motions of his hand were slow and languid, but Ornstein could see the storm in his eyes. “All evening as I have sat at that table, my mind has lingered in our bed, at our coupling.”

 

Ornstein's mouth was dry. In spite of the sight in front of him, his mind staggered at _our bed –_ not so long ago the very thought of entering his lord's chambers scandalized him, and now to have it referred to this way--

 

He realized his gaze was frozen, on Faraam's deft hand and swollen cock, betraying the full extent of the night's budding lusts. The knight chanced a look back down at the party guests. No one appeared to be watching them now, but surely the truth was written all over them, over Faraam's visibly red face and the motions (though subtle) of his arm. As he watched, the prince's pace quickened, now intent on coaxing out his release. Ornstein's armor had been crafted to resist dragon's fire, and just now it was a blazing inferno.

 

“Tell me you imagine it, dear Ornstein,” Faraam gasped. “Tell me you think of us, just as I do.”

 

“M-my lord,” Ornstein stammered, forgetting how to speak to his lover in that moment, transfixed and stunned by the sight before him. The prince stood perhaps five feet away and though he had a lewd request, it was himself he was debasing here tonight, his face vulnerable, lips gently parted. Ornstein charged on. “I do wish we were separate from this, so that I could take you in my mouth and drink of you, that you should put me in your bed and make use of me in whatever way you require, that I could get my pleasures from you.” Faraam's eyes widened at these exclamations, but his pace did not slow. His other arm reached out to lean against the bannister.

 

“My pleasure would be to claim you, my knight,” he rasped. “What would yours be?”

 

“To be claimed,” Ornstein replied, voice strained from lack of breath. “And to claim you, my prince.”

 

And with that, Faraam finished as he stood, his seed coating the posts of the balustrade. The sight was endlessly vulgar and hopelessly erotic. Ornstein watched it as it dripped down, feeling it wrong and wasteful to have it splattered here in Lord Gwyn's extravagant hall, instead of coating the inside of his mouth or some other unspeakable place. And still the lords and ladies danced on, oblivious.

 

The prince did not set himself to rights right away. He leaned his forehead against a column and took a few deep breaths, then tucked himself away, before straightening his body and breaking into that beaming, sunlight smile. He moved past Ornstein, patting his golden pauldrons as he did so. “I'll leave you to your reflections, then, my glorious knight,” he called back, and moved to rejoin the crowds below. And Ornstein - his body was ignited, he was _dragonfire_ , trapped in a metal cage. In spite of his vexations – the sexual frustration, a tinge of humiliation - he could not help the smirk that crossed his face, though no one could see it. His lord had not seen fire yet.

 


End file.
